


First-Floor Bathroom Blues

by Omorka



Category: Eureka
Genre: Fuck Or Die, Injury, M/M, Masturbation, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fargo's curiosity (and desperation) lead him to drink something he shouldn't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First-Floor Bathroom Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the prompt "He can't resist trying out the potion Taggart warned him about; Fuck or die," for the LJ Rounds of Kink community. Takes place sometime in late Season Two, so may have mild spoilers up to that point.

Fargo turned the vial over and over in his hands. The liquid within was a pale straw-pink color, thicker than water but thinner than blood or oil. For the fifteenth time, he debated whether this was potentially worth the risks.

Taggart had been delighted to find that S.A.R.A.H.'s mechanical filters had trapped a sample of the spores that had the town's women chasing after Carter with mayhem in mind. He'd extracted and reproduced several different chemical components that contributed to the effect, and tested them on his lab critters. He'd called Fargo in to demonstrate this latest one, administering an eyedropper-full to the tongue of one of the monkeys. Within ten minutes, all five of the primates in the enclosure were demonstrating where the phrase "hot monkey love" had originated.

"The girls aren't even in estrus," Taggart had said with a smirk. "It's about as close to a perfect aphrodisiac as you can get. But," he'd warned, as Fargo's eyes had widened, "it's not nearly ready for human testing. Don't you even think it, Fargo, I mean it."

Fargo had thought it. And so here he was, his breakfast getting colder, as he gave the vial yet another turn and contemplated its depths.

Taking a deep breath, he twisted off the stopper and poured the contents into the glass of grapefruit juice on the table in front of him, gave it a stir, and chugged.

\---

Fargo slid sideways on his desk chair and mentally cursed the intermolecular forces responsible for friction. His fingers trembled on the keyboard; his palms were so damp they left hazy marks on the glass desktop.

He glanced down. He'd been harder than corundum since halfway past the holographic bridge, and his pants, while not terribly tight, weren't doing much to hide the fact. Worse, every movement of the fabric, every shift in pressure, hell, the draft when the ventilation system had come on, turned him on harder and sent something very close to electrical jolts from his groin straight up his spine.

A trickle of sweat snuck down from his hairline down his left temple. He felt vaguely nauseous. His thighs were cramping from how still he was having to hold them. He couldn't concentrate - he'd even found himself staring at the security guards' uniformed posteriors earlier.

Dr. Blake came striding out of her office, her blouse perfectly pressed and her blazer unbuttoned. "Fargo, I'll be in the meeting with the Section Four department heads until eleven. Don't patch anyone through unless it's Mansfield, or Nathan or Jack if it's an emergency." She paused. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" Fargo grabbed at his glasses, startled. "Oh. Um, I have a stomachache, but I'm sure it's nothing."

She gave him a little half-frown. "Okay, well, keep an eye on it. Make sure you're staying hydrated; you're sweating again."

"Really?" Fargo snatched a tissue from the box beside the computer and daubed at his forehead. "I, uh, I didn't realize I was - maybe I'm having anxiety issues again. Sorry." His eyes darted away.

Her expression softened. "Well, hold down the fort until I get back, okay? If you need to lie down when I get back, I can probably let you go early."

"I think I'll be fine," Fargo gulped.

She clicked across the floor towards the elevators. As soon as she was out of sight, Fargo stuffed the tissue in his pocket and darted for the bathroom.

\---

Fargo slammed the stall door behind him for the third time that morning. Frantically, he unzipped his pants, unhooked his belt, clutched at the wall between stalls and started pumping with his other hand.

He hissed between his teeth. It _hurt_, his skin was so sensitive - but doing nothing was both physically painful and utterly intolerable, like sitting quietly in front of a fountain while dying of thirst. The first time, he'd come in four strokes, hard enough he'd seen stars. He'd managed to wait almost another hour after that. The second time had taken a little longer, but not much, and his penis had seemed tender, but it had all been over so fast he hadn't had much of a chance to worry about it. It was only half an hour later, now, but the pressure was rendering him incapable of working any longer.

Fortunately, it looked like it wasn't going to take long this time, either. He panted, elbow working frantically, then groaned and shuddered as he had his third orgasm in ninety minutes.

He was still rock hard. He stared at the wayward organ in his hand and cursed under his breath.

The bang at the stall door made him screech. Larry snarled from the other side, "Fargo, I know you're in here, I saw you come in. You've been in the bathroom all freaking morning. You're slacking, just because Dr. Blake's in a meeting. And I'm _totally_ going to make sure she knows."

Fargo leaned against the wall and tried to get his heart out of his throat and back down into his chest. "I'm kind of not feeling well. She knows already."

"Then go down to the infirmary." Dammit, Larry was having some sort of flip-out of his own. "Quit goldbricking, Fargo."

Fargo finished zipping himself up and unlatched the door. "Seriously, Haberman, cut it out. I'm not . . . "

Their eyes locked. Fargo watched Larry's eyes go from narrowed and blue to wide-dilated, and dark. He inhaled, and realized they'd fallen into breathing in unison.

Larry's left hand found Fargo's upper arm, more or less without either of them thinking about it. "What - Douglas - what are - "

Fargo stared at Larry's mouth. There were sounds coming out of it, but they weren't making sense. He didn't decide to stop them; he didn't make a conscious decision at all - but he was glad to find that they stopped when he kissed him. That mouth was warm and wet, and after an initial start seemed to be kissing back. For the first time since breakfast, he felt okay; in fact, this felt better than anything had in a long time.

It took Haberman until there was tongue involved to recover himself. "Holy crap, Fargo, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Fargo whimpered, hoping that he wasn't about to get belted.

Larry stared wildly, his hair in disarray. Then he bolted from the bathroom, hands flailing.

Fargo leaned against the cold stone tiles and groaned.

\---

The face in the mirror was so pale it was almost green. The corners of his eyes were damp; he was too tired to cry. Fargo looked down at his shaking hands and tried to wash the blood off. The front panels of his pants were starting to soak through; even though this was a dark pair, he could see the beginnings of the red stains.

He hadn't been back to his desk in an hour. He'd handled a couple of calls from in here, but he hadn't dared leave. His willpower was just about expended; he felt like he was stretched thin, like a balloon about to burst. Touching his dick was excruciating. Not doing so was worse; the dull, throbbing ache overwhelmed every thought and made the whole world seem gray.

The door flew open and Fargo pressed himself against the sink to hide - well, everything. "Fargo!" Carter shouted, charging in, with Dr. Stark immediately behind him. "Hold it right there!"

"It's this bathroom, isn't it?" mused Stark. "I should just tell you never to come in here."

"I, uh, I don't know . . . crap. What trouble am I in now?" Fargo was leaning hard on the counter, trying not to collapse.

"Taggart was missing a sample of his latest serum. You know," Jack said, his voice far more casual than his bearing, "the one he was intending to use on pandas and other endangered species that can't or won't breed in captivity."

"Oh," Fargo replied, not trusting himself to say anything else.

"Turns out," Stark continued where the sheriff had left off, "that it's still not refined yet. Right now, he figures it stimulates the mating drive to the point that any mammal ingesting it would be driven to either fulfill the drive with someone - anyone should do - or self-stimulate to the exclusion of all other activities, including eating and sleeping. Potentially also causing self-injury."

Jack pointedly looked at the blood lingering in the sink. "Anything you want to tell us, Fargo?"

Fargo looked at the ceiling and considered curling up in a ball and whimpering until they left. That would probably result in Taggart coming in and shooting him with a tranquilizer dart. "I could use a sandwich," he admitted.

The sheriff and the scientist exchanged an eye-roll. "Fargo, you can't possibly be _that_ desperate," chided Jack.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" Fargo shrugged, forgetting his bloody and tented trousers for a moment. Both men looked down and winced.

Nathan's eyes traveled back up to Fargo's face slowly. "So why did you lock yourself in the men's room?"

"Seemed like the safest space to jack off." Fargo blushed furiously, but it felt as if honesty was the best policy.

"But if you were looking for a mate . . . " Stark trailed off; Jack gave him a startled glance.

"I, uh, I wasn't really looking." Fargo remembered Larry's reaction and cringed. Where had he gone, anyway?

"Of course not. You may be a know-it-all and a suck-up, but you're not a jackass." Carter glared at Nathan as Fargo wondered what he meant by that.

Stark returned Carter's stare calmly, then reached into his pocket. "Well, we're here now. Flip you for him?"

"What?" Fargo blurted.

Jack looked at Fargo appraisingly. "Taggart's sure it doesn't have to be someone of the opposite sex?"

"About 95% sure. He said it should only require significant skin-to-skin contact and orgasm from both parties," Stark answered, hand still in his pocket.

"_What?_" Fargo's voice was high and reedy; he gaped at both of them, alternating so fast he almost got a crick in his neck. His aching dick throbbed feebly.

Jack shrugged. "You came up with the idea first. I'll just guard the door so no one wanders in on you."

"Fine." Nathan closed on Fargo like a lion approaching a lame gazelle, fast enough to be threatening but in no hurry. Jack slipped back out the door.

"I don't think I understood what's going on," Fargo supplied as Stark slid a hand under his chin and tilted his head up.

"We're going to save your life, Fargo. It's what we do around here, after all." Nathan swooped in for the kill, or rather, the kiss.

Fargo clung to him like a drowning man holds a rope, his fingers digging into the soft, slick fabric of the older scientist's shirt as if he were thinking of climbing him. After a few seconds of the gentle burr of Nathan's beard against his chin, that actually felt like a pretty good idea. Fargo's skin burned wherever they touched, a slow, warm fire; he slid one leg up to wrap around Stark's.

Nathan's lips left his for a moment; Fargo let out that whimper he'd been considering earlier. Stark chuckled. "For someone who claims not to have much practice, Fargo, you're not a bad kisser."

"Um, thanks?" Fargo held onto his shoulders, tugging him back down. "Dr. Stark, why are you doing this?"

"Because if we let you die, no one will be able to figure out S.A.R.A.H.'s main programming or the Global filing system for years," Stark said, flatly.

That made sense, actually. "Oh," Fargo said, nodding slightly.

Nathan laughed again, a low rumble in his chest. "No, seriously, Fargo, aside from that, we would really prefer that you not die. We've gotten a bit attached to having you around here. And one of the side effects of the serum you took is that your arousal is mildly contagious. You're putting out very tiny amounts of the active compound in your sweat, and it evaporates quickly, so everyone around you is exposed to a micro-dosage." He ran one hand down Fargo's cheek, down his neck, down the thin fabric of his sweat-soaked polo shirt. "It makes you smell more attractive than you normally do. Not enough to completely disrupt someone's judgement, but it weighs the scales in your favor."

Fargo tilted his head and looked up into Stark's eyes, thin rims of green around wide pupils. "Not enough to . . . I didn't know you were bi, Dr. Stark."

"Don't spread it around," Nathan said, grinning like a shark. "Jack doesn't."

"What does . . . oh!" Fargo swallowed. "I didn't know. Sorry, that was obvious, of course I didn't know, I . . . "

"Shut up, Fargo." Nathan slid his hands under Fargo's arms and picked him up, sitting him on the granite shelf of the sink to lessen the height difference, and then kissed him again, deep and long. He tasted of coffee and something darker; the hint of musk in his aftershave blended with a similar note from his skin. Fargo stopped struggling with his own confusion and guilt and melted into him, holding on with arms and legs and fingers and letting the slow burn replace the dull, grinding ache in his body.

Stark backed up a step, reached in between them, and undid Fargo's belt buckle. Fargo tried to wriggle forward; a broad hand pressed to his chest stopped him. "You're going to need skin contact, remember, Fargo? We'll have to get your clothes off eventually."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Fargo scooted back on the shelf and started to peel off his shirt. Nathan's hands finished undoing his fly and then tugged his pants off, roughly, along with his briefs. Fargo rolled his hips to let the fabric slip out from under him.

"What I'd really like to do is bend you over," Stark said, still giving him that predator's smile, "but I think we'd need to stand you on something."

Fargo leaned back until his head bumped the mirror and scooted forward until his hips were right at the edge of the counter. "I'll be fine like this."

Stark glanced down, eyes tracing Fargo's narrow hips. "That'll work." He unbuttoned his own shirt, slowly; Fargo watched with hungry eyes, wriggling against the cold stone and moaning. Nathan fished something out of his pocket and set a condom and an elfin bottle of lube on the counter, then dropped his pants unceremoniously.

Fargo was slightly surprised when Nathan began slicking up one hand. "Um, I'm ready, believe me."

"Blood's not a very good lubricant. Coefficient of friction is pretty high when it starts to coagulate." Nathan's eyes flicked across Fargo's chafed skin. "Why didn't you tell someone, Fargo?"

"It didn't occur to me that anyone would be willing to help me." Fargo shrugged; his glasses slipped down his nose as he tucked his knees to his chest.

Nathan sighed. "You know Larry's in the other men's room on this floor, having a serious 'gay panic' attack? If you'd asked him, he'd probably have stayed."

"Really?" Fargo gasped as Nathan slid a finger into him, slick with lubricant and surprisingly warm. How long had the lube been in his pocket?

"Mmm, ease, up, Fargo," Nathan purred, turning his finger slightly and brushing against something Fargo had occasionally found with one of his toys. Fargo forced himself to inhale and obeyed. "That's better," Nathan purred.

Fargo's thighs began to shake. Nathan shook his head. "Not yet, Fargo."

"I can't help - aaahh!" Fargo clenched his hands into fists against the granite as he came again; it hurt a lot less when nothing was touching his cock, he realized. He could almost enjoy this one.

Nathan frowned. "Not very obedient today, are you, Fargo?"

"Sorry," Fargo whimpered, cringing and clutching the counter harder.

Nathan's eyes widened as he realized Fargo was afraid he was about to stop, and he laid his other hand gently on Fargo's belly. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. We'll talk about your inability to take direction later."

"We will?" For the first time that day, Fargo looked hopeful for a moment, before wincing as the ache began to build up again. Nathan sighed and worked in a second finger to join the first one.

When Fargo had finished shaking, he caught at Stark's wrist. "I'm ready. I'm really, really ready. _Please._"

"Don't have to ask me twice." Nathan was beginning to breathe hard himself; Fargo listened to the sound of the condom unwrapping and a squish of more lube. Nathan was being remarkably gentle with him, all things considered.

Then he was pressing into him. It hurt, but _everything_ hurt at this point, and his skin was on fire where Nathan was touching him.

Stark bent over and held Fargo against the counter by his upper arms. "Put your feet on my shoulders. We'll get better leverage, and more skin contact."

"Yes, sir." The overworked muscles in Fargo's groin were tensed again, ready to fire; Fargo let go of the counter and dug his fingers into Stark's long, strong arms instead. He was all Fargo could see - eyes closed, thrusting slowly, carefully, trying not to hurt him.

Fargo closed his eyes and forced his legs to relax as much as he could. "Dr. Stark?"

"Yes, Fargo?" his former boss hissed back.

"Fuck me harder?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He was. If this was going to hurt, he'd rather feel like he was being split apart than deal with the potion's empty ache any longer.

"Good. Try and hold still so I don't bang your head against the mirror." Nathan inhaled, and then drove into him with all the force of a Nobel Prize winner who could bench-press a Cray.

Fargo yelped and held on. The pain gave one last throb and dissolved, melting into the first waves of orgasm again; the yelp turned into a croon, and then a moan.

It didn't stop. The tiny piece of Fargo's mind that wasn't busy moaning and gulping at the sudden flood of sensation wondered vaguely how dehydrated he was going to be.

Nathan growled as Fargo's legs shook against him; his hands found Fargo's hips and held him tightly as the smaller man writhed, caterwauled, and clawed at him. It didn't last much longer; soon Nathan's growl turned into a close-mouthed roar, and Fargo felt him pulsing.

They stayed in that position for a few moments, Stark catching his breath in huge gulps, Fargo figuring out where all his limbs were. Finally, Fargo wriggled. "Um, Dr. Stark? That was fantastic, but I think my back is going to cramp up any second now."

"Right." Nathan straightened up and eased out of Fargo carefully. "Good thing there's a sink right here to clean up."

Fargo slithered off the counter and touched his finally-softening cock. "Also, I've been hard since breakfast. My back teeth are floating." He scuttled over to the urinals as Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed.

Jack waited until the water stopped running to stick his head back in. "Horrible bloody death averted?"

"He'll need a lot of lotion, a good nap, and a good stiff electrolyte drink, but the patient will live." Nathan finished buttoning his shirt and re-tucked it as Fargo sponged himself off with a wad of paper towels.

"Good." Carter draped an arm around Nathan's shoulders.

Fargo swallowed. "Sheriff Carter, um, thanks for letting me, I mean . . . "

"Like I can tell him what to do? Or who to do? Or not to, for that matter?" Jack chuckled. "So, Nathan, anything to report?"

"I think," Stark said with a smirk, "that S.A.R.A.H. will absolutely have a fit if we invite him to your house."

"Yours okay?" Jack asked, nonchalantly.

"Can't see why not," Nathan answered.

"Really?" Fargo squeaked.

"Well, we'll have to dock the cost of Taggart's serum from your pay first. But after you've paid him for your petty theft and had a few days to heal up," Nathan said, still grinning, "I can think of much more pleasant ways for you to pay us for our time."

"And that'll also give us enough time to figure out how to handle Larry," Jack agreed, nodding.

Fargo looked back and forth between them, delighted and utterly terrified. And dizzy. Well, more dizzy than anything. "This seems like a good time to pass out," he murmured, as he slid to the floor.

"Okay, so electrolytes first," Nathan murmured, as he and Jack scooped their fragile young friend up between them.


End file.
